


Get Me From My Good Side

by JulietsEmoPhase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut, Modeling, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only reason Harry agrees to these Ministry publicity articles is he knows he's in safe hands with Draco Malfoy as his stylist. But then a shoot doesn't quite go to plan and Harry worries his secret is out. </p><p>Post-Hogwarts non-epilogue compliant. Tiny bit of smut, mostly just fluff.  Birthday present!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Me From My Good Side

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for Shan aka @siriuslupinx – happy birthday love! It is also to celebrate my hitting 1,400 followers on Tumblr a while back (I’m closer to 1,500 now lol!)
> 
> This fic was inspired by two separate prompts. First there was a request for model!Drarry in leather jackets by Maia aka @oh-my-drarry, then there was Zara aka @foolforfelton’s head canon about hairstylist!Draco manhandling Harry and all the little noises he would make. Loads of people requested I have a go at both, so I combined the two and had some fun!
> 
> Thanks very much, I hope you enjoy! xJx

Get Me From My Good Side

 

   Harry took a look around the bustling room at the grand manor house he’d found himself in, and wondered if he’d ever get used to days like this. 

   He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, enjoying the seconds he had before someone caught sight of him and whisked him way, into the madness.  Sure enough, his publicist Lisa Turpin appeared from another room and her eyes lit up with urgency at the sight of him.

  “Good, you’re here,” she said, rushing over and placing her hand on the small of his back to escort him around the various people dashing back and forth.  She was a shrewd woman who Harry had always liked from their days at school together.  How she kept Harry’s impossible schedule straight for him he had no idea, but he was always extremely grateful.

   “Sorry I’m late, work-”

   Lisa, a tall black woman with neat braids that flowed all the way down her shoulder blades, gave him her Look, and he fell quiet.  She knew he had a real job at the Ministry, but that wasn’t her concern.  Her concern was The Boy That Lived.

   “What’s the deal today then,” Harry said, changing tactics, and she nodded business like.  People had lights being set up and reflectors and notepads and paper airplane memos zipping over their heads in a general air of chaos, but Harry guessed everything was probably in hand if Lisa had anything to do with it.

   “Fluff piece,” Lisa informed him, plonking him in a chair next to a sink nestled in a short pillar, a mirror and a trolley littered with hair products.  “They want mostly photos, and a few words about how you’re getting on.”

   Harry sighed.  “So this is literally one of those ones where people just like to see I’m still alive?” he asked.  At least there wouldn’t a lengthy interview, he hated those, but he felt aggravated when his celebrity status was seen as being more important than actually being an Auror. 

   “Smile and be a good boy now,” Lisa smirk, already halfway across the room, her heals clacking on the polished wooden floorboards.  “Your stylist is on his way.”

   “Did you get-” Harry asked, unable to help jolting up in his seat as she made to leave the room.

   “Yes,” she said kindly, poking her head back in and leaning on the doorframe.  “I got him.”

   She vanished and left Harry alone in the relatively small room with everyone else bustling about, getting the shoot ready in the manor’s impressive master bedroom.  Harry cringed and begged to the gods he wouldn’t be asked to writhe around on the plush bedding.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

   “Missed me Potter?” a familiar voice drawled, and Harry looked around with a smile as Draco Malfoy entered the room, slapping a fine-toothed comb repeatedly on his palm as he smirked back down at Harry. 

   As always, his long legs were clad in black leather trousers and his white shirt had one too many buttons undone, not that Harry was complaining.  His sleeves were rolled up, unabashedly revealing his Dark Mark tattoo, and his pale blond hair draped into his eyes as he swivelled Harry’s chair to face the mirror surrounded by soft, glowing lights.  “Goodness me,” he drawled playfully.  “Do you even wash your own hair, or do you simply roll around in twigs before our appointments just to spite me?”

   Harry rolled his eyes.  “Very funny Malfoy,” he said, pulling self-consciously at his as ever unruly hair.  “You know it just does this all by itself.”

   Draco batted his hand away and began training his slender fingers across Harry’s scalp, letting his course black hair slide through them.

   Harry felt his eyes flutter just a little.

   “Well it’s a good job you have me then,” he said, talking into their reflections in the mirror.  Unlike a lot of wizarding mirrors, this one just displayed their regular reflection back, as it made it easier for Draco to work.  “Shall we?”

   Harry nodded, and he was spun around again to lean his head back into the basin, the sound of Draco playing with the water soothing him and allowing him to close his eyes and relax.

   In the beginning, in the months after the war, Harry had utterly detested these publicity shoots the Ministry had insisted on subjecting him to.  He was trying to deal with the loss of a great many friends, not to mention his whole purpose in life after finally defeating Voldemort, and the gruelling application process of applying for Auror training.  He’d been sullen and uncooperative, until Lisa Turpin had pulled him aside and asked, with a deep breath, if he’d like her to help him. 

   Lisa was Harry’s gate keeper, she fielded all the questions and organised every single event he attended with precision and panache.  Whether it was shoots like this or attending functions where Harry had to shake a thousand hands, she was always there making sure no one took advantage of Harry, and whispering forgotten details and words of encouragement into his ear.  He’d be lost without her.

   But it had taken a while to work out what had still bothered him to the point of irrationally bad behaviour every time though, behaviour that Lisa would have to spend up to half an hour calming down each time, and that was the man-handling beforehand.

   She and Harry must have gone through a dozen stylists; people who would yank his hair, cover him with gunk and try and get him wearing the most ridiculous outfits that would have him so cranky he would be storming out of whatever event it was, threatening to curse anyone else that came near him.

   But it wasn’t even the abuse that he couldn’t stand the most.

   It was the niceness. 

   All these people wanted to be his friend, they were fans, and Harry tried to be fair and pleasant back, but it was hard not to lose his cool when someone was telling him how _brave_  he was and how they owed him _everything_ when he was about to straddle a car half-naked with a puppy. 

   People had died, good friends of his, people he considered family, and there Harry was being continually treated like a dress-up doll to make everyone feel better by ‘moving on’ and helping them to forget the war ever happened.

   And then Draco Malfoy had walked in, just had he had ten minutes ago, and sighed as if all hope was lost.  “Well, I do like a challenge Potter,” he had said, before giving him a wink.

   Harry had been so stunned, he’d just let himself be lowered into the wash basin behind, and for the first time actually relaxed as Draco began to massage his scalp.  “You’re all tension,” he’d told him with a cluck of his tongue.  “Mind you, so would I be if my hair behaved like yours.”

   Harry had opened one eye and raised an eyebrow to go with it, only to see an upside down Draco grinning at him from above.

   “This is what I get for saving your life?” he’d asked, but despite the serious nature of their conversation, he’d never felt himself unwind like that before an event.

   Draco had tilted his head and nodded once.  “Yes,” was all he’d said, and that’s all they’d discussed of the matter. 

   Harry now sighed deeply, rolling his head back into Draco’s hands as he rubbed a generous amount of citrus smelling product into his hair.  He heard a chuckle above him, but didn’t open his eyes.  “What’s so funny?” he mumbled.

   “Nothing,” Draco replied back, and Harry could practically hear him grinning.

   The noise outside the room told Harry the shoot was getting in full swing, and the test shots were probably already going from the sounds of the clicking camera.  But having Draco’s hands on him, soothing him, Harry didn’t get anxious or angry like he used to.  He would be done in an hour or so, people would be happier for it and the world would continue to tick on as it should. 

   The water shut off and Draco squeezed Harry’s dripping hair of excess water.  He was ashamed to admit a tiny moan crawled up his throat, and he quickly coughed and opened his eyes, hoping Draco hadn’t heard him.  “Uh, you done?” he asked unnecessarily and Draco began towelling him dry. 

   “I want to give it a trim,” Draco said, pushing him back upright in his chair and vanishing the wet towel with a flick of his wand.  He plucked a brush with thick bristles from his trolley and began gently untangling Harry’s hair, unaware of Harry watching him in the mirror. 

   He wasn’t sure if it was Draco per se, or his no-nonsense but mindful care of him, but Harry had come to realise that he only did these events anymore because he loved spending time with his former school rival.  Draco didn’t treat him like he was made of glass, or like a hero either.  He just treated him like Harry, and he seemed to very much enjoy turning his hap-hazard, scruffy look into something even Harry had to admit photographed well. 

   There was something wonderful about having someone else play with your hair.  Harry watched on as Draco worked his comb and scissors, his face alive with concentration as he slowly snipped at the edges of Harry’s damp curls.  He’d trained in Paris apparently, with one of the best schools Europe had to offer, and Harry trusted him implicitly.  He didn’t even ask what he was doing anymore, he just let him do it.

   “Pansy was dragged away to another appointment today,” Draco said, as if they’d been having a conversation. 

   “That’s a shame,” Harry said sincerely.  He’d come to like Draco’s best friend and business partner almost as much as the blond himself. 

   “She pouted most profusely, I assure you,” said Draco, looking up to catch Harry’s eye before reaching for his wand.  “She was scared what I might do with you in her absence.”

   Harry rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, knowing full well Draco couldn’t make a fashion faux-pas if his life depended on it. 

   “You’re not scared I’ll put you in bunny ears and a tutu?” Draco goaded, gently drying Harry’s freshly trimmed hair with a warm _Deprimo_ charm.

   “I’d like to see you try,” Harry shot back with a lop-sided grin.

   Okay, so _maybe_ there always seemed to be a little bit of flirting that went on when they met like this.  Harry didn’t really see any harm in it.  He felt like there was a safety barrier between them thanks to Draco’s professionalism…and also the sharp scissors he was usually wielding.  Harry had realised a couple of years ago that he much preferred men to women in that respect, but it was hard to come out and say something like that when you were The Chosen One.  This little bit of banter was generally the closest he ever got to pulling.

   He hoped Draco didn’t mind, he always seemed keen to tease him back.  In fact, he normally started it with his deploring of Harry’s untameable hair, so Harry figured it was all innocent enough.

   “So you’re in charge or wardrobe today?” Harry asked as Draco declared him done by whisking off the cape he’d draped over his shoulders to catch the wisps of hair as they fell. 

   Draco nodded.  “I wasn’t thinking of anything too complicated, but I did have something in mind.”

   He lead the way, something that could have been described as a twinkle in his eye as the two men came back into the bustling bedroom.  Two racks of clothes were parked to the side, and Harry knew they’d all fit him perfectly if he’d had the inclination to try them on.  He only glanced fleetingly at the bed, trying not to be flustered that it was there with him and Draco, because there was also a dozen of more people running around too.

   “Ah good,” said Lisa, coming over and inspecting Harry’s hair.  “Lovely job as always Malfoy.  Where’s Parkinson?”

   “Morocco,” he said, pulling at the garments on their hangers.  “But don’t worry I know what I’m doing – here – try this.”  He thrust a couple of items at Harry, and he looked dubiously down at the black t-shirt and leather jacket he’d been given.  “You can leave your jeans on,” Draco added with one of his winks, and Harry mustered all his chill not to flush.  He was, after all, a trained government agent. 

   “You’re the boss,” he said, hoisting his t-shirt over his head.  He loved any excuse to get his abs out in front of Draco, but as always the cool bastard just kept his eyes on Harry’s face, holding his hands out for the glasses he knew Harry would be taking off next.

   _I’ll get him flustered one of these days,_ Harry chuckled silently to himself, slipping on the t-shirt and then looping his arms down the leather jacket.  It was soft and fit pricelessly, and he stood still as Draco stepped forward and started fussing with the collar.  “Actually,” he said, glancing his fingertips over Harry’s jaw, angling him to check his handy work.  “Turpin’s the boss, and she’s looking murderous.”

   “Makeup’s waiting for you,” she said, unfazed by Draco’s mischievous tone.  “Are you happy with your side of it Malfoy?”

   Draco licked his lips and grinned at Harry.  “Perfectly,” he said.

 

***

 

   The article didn’t run until a few weeks later, and if Harry was honest he’d forgotten all about it.  He’d been given a particularly nasty case at work, his biggest so far, and had thrown everything he’d had at it in an effort not to mess it up.  So he didn’t immediately twig what the parcel could be when it landed with a thump amidst his leisurely Saturday morning breakfast, the first he’d enjoyed in days. 

   He ran his finger under the letter’s seal and shook out the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_ , along with a note from Lisa.

   He should have guessed something was wrong when he saw the letter was quivering.

   _“Harry,”_ it read in bright purple ink that was somehow more worrying than if it had been red.  She saved the purple for when things went seriously awry.  _“I don’t know how I can apologise enough.  I can only say this is NOT the copy they showed me, and assure you that I would never have allowed them to print if they had.  I tried to get them to disappear the run, but it had already been sent out, and that would make things even worse.  I think it’s best of we formulate a response as soon as possible, owl me as soon as you get this.”_

   Horror was creeping through Harry’s guts, his mind whirring as to what could have possibly have happened.  As shoots went it had been pretty painless, not even half and hour, and they’d not asked him anything more than vague questions about his love life (“No, no one special right now.”)  How could that have gone so wrong?

   He flipped hurriedly to the right page, and realised how stupid he’d been.

   It was a _thousand_ times worse than he could have imagined.

   _‘The Boy Who Loved’_ the cheesy tagline screamed at him in pink as magical heart-shaped confetti flitted down the double-page spread.  _‘War hero Harry Potter claims not to have a special someone in his life, but Witch Weekly gets the pics that proves the truth!’_

   Harry thought he was going to be sick.  There wasn’t really an article as such, just a series of photographs that showed him.  And Draco.

   Draco washing his hair, Harry’s eyes closed with a smile as Draco massaged his scalp, a fond look on his face that made Harry’s stomach flip.  Harry batting Draco playfully away as Draco straightened the collar of his jacket up.  Them talking closely as the shoot was reset, Harry leaning happily over to let Draco fix his hair, the two of them cackling with laughter and Harry casually touching Draco’s elbow as they moved away .  And the worst, the _worst,_ was the moment Harry had stolen a look at Draco as he’d worked with the _actual_ photographer, the one who’d taken the pictures of him leaning casually against the bed post, hardly any of which had made it into the magazine.

   Harry had remember exactly when he’d chanced that look, had let his heart ache a little for Draco in a way he rarely ever did, knowing he was probably a fool for thinking their harmless flirting meant anything more.  And yet here it was, for the whole of Great Britain to see, playing over and over as picture Harry glanced at his stylist and let a small, hopeful smile tug at his lips.

   He was mortified, he was horrified, he didn’t know whether to scream or cry or break something.  But first thing was first, he had to work on damage control. 

   First, he snatched up some parchment and hastily scribbled a note to Lisa.  _“Will be over soon.  In the meantime, eviscerate them.”_

   He tied it to her patient owl’s foot and sent the bird off.  Then he grabbed his coat and ran outside, taking a couple of deep breaths to try and calm himself, but it was difficult with the offending magazine rolled up and crushed in his fist.  This was okay, he could just explain how pictures can be manipulated to tell a different story, Draco would understand, he worked in the media. 

   Harry still felt faint with shame and nausea as he turned and apparated on the spot, popping up outside Draco’s building.  Luckily someone was just coming out, so Harry quickly darted forwards and caught the door before it could lock behind the other resident, and gave them a sheepish thanks, not bothering to stick around and explain why he was running in without keys. 

   He’d been to Draco’s flat a few times when he’d needed appointments before events where there weren’t the facilities on site, so he knew where he was going.  But he was wracked with nerves as he reached the correct floor.  How many times had he imagined doing this socially, meeting up with Draco for drinks or dinner or…

   He cleared his throat as he reached Draco’s door and steeled himself.  He felt awful, but it _wasn’t_ his fault, he had to remember that.  They were both the victims here, he had to remember that.

   Except he really did have the biggest crush on Draco if he was forced to admit it, any idiot looking at those photos could see that.

   He sighed and knocked firmly.  There was no sense in hiding from this any longer.

   Part of him selfishly hoped that Draco wasn’t in, that he could run over to Lisa’s and have her help him handle this too, but just as he was about to knock again the door flew open and a rumpled looking Draco appeared.

   “Harry?” he said surprised as Harry tried not to panic even further.  Draco was only wearing chequered pyjama bottoms and they did not leave much to the imagination.  “Is everything alright?”

   “Um,” said Harry, wishing the ground would swallow him up.  “No, not really.  Can I come in?”

   Draco’s eyebrows disappeared under his pale hair, and he nodded as stepped aside to allow Harry in.  His apartment was like something straight out of Hogwarts, despite being in a Muggle neighbourhood.  There were gilded mirrors and velvet finishings everywhere.  Draco had charmed the place to be bigger on the inside, so the hallway lead into a grand living room with windows that afforded a spectacular view of the city.  Harry had found it both decadent and comforting in the past.  Now he found it suffocating. 

   “So what’s the matter Potter?” Draco said, thankfully pulling on an old and faded Slytherin t-shirt.  With his bed hair all mussed and out of place, it was the most dishevelled Harry had ever seen him.  “You look frightful.”

   Harry twisted the magazine between his hands and tried to think where to start.  “That shoot we did a few weeks ago,” he began.  “It – they – I uh…”   He gave up and thrust the publication Draco, staring miserably at the floor as he did.  “I’m so sorry, I had no idea that’s what they were writing.  I’m used to this crap but it’s not fair you got pulled into it too and I feel _dreadful.”_   He sucked in a deep breath, having spat all that out as fast as he could. 

   He risked a glance to see Draco’s confused expression, before he slowly reached over and slid the magazine from Harry’s hand.  He didn’t say anything as he flicked through, there weren’t that many pages after all, and then stopped on the offending spread. 

   His eyebrows shot up, eyes raking the article.  And then he burst out laughing.

   “Oh Harry!” he cried, slapping his forehead with the magazine and grinning like a loon.  “You’re not the only one who’d had terrible stuff written about him, I thought it was going to be something hideous about my father, or this!”  He batted the magazine against his Dark Mark tattoo and laughed again, apparently in relief.  “Bloody hell, you scared me.”

   Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You-” he stuttered, not sure what to do with his hands, so wrapped them around his chest.  “You’re not angry?”

   Draco dropped the magazine and smiled fondly at Harry.  “It’s just silly gossip trash, I’ve had at least three written about me and Pansy.  They’re funny.”

   Harry wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that Draco didn’t see how bad this was, or the fact he was dismissing the idea of Harry being in love with him as _funny._

   He rubbed his forehead.  “I’m glad you’re not upset,” he mumbled around the lump in his throat. 

   He heard Draco sigh.  “How about a cup of tea?” he suggested.

   Harry shook his head though, feeling the walls closing in around him.  “I should get going, I-”

   _“Sit,”_ Draco snapped, not unkindly, pointing at the sofa behind Harry.  “Tea.  Now.”

   Harry chewed his lip and let his legs drop out from under him, flopping into the cushions dejectedly.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, his eyes hot with tears threatening to fall.  How embarrassing.

   “Stop that,” Draco said good-humouredly.  “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

   Harry wanted to argue that you could only get so many candid shots of someone making puppy-dog eyes before you had to admit there was some truth to them.  So he stayed quiet, trying to compose himself, but every time he did another wave of humiliation got the better of him. 

   In the meantime, Draco made them both tea, and produced some delicious smelling pastries from somewhere.  “Hungry?” he asked as he sat down next to Harry, and Harry froze at their sudden close proximity. 

   “Why aren’t you pissed off?” he demanded quietly instead, jabbing the discarded magazine on the table by their breakfast.  “They’re implying that we’re…” he struggled to find the right word.  _“Together,”_ he eventually managed. 

   Draco chuckled, and again Harry felt it was a kick in the gut.  He couldn’t even _fathom_ them being romantically involved, it was all just a big joke.

   He bit his tongue though, and watched Draco fish up the publication again and flip to the right page.  Harry winced.

   Draco dropped it back down and pointed to it as he retrieved his tea and took a leisurely sip.  “I’ve wanted to get you in that jacket for ages.”

   Harry blinked, his hurt and anger momentarily forgotten.  “Huh?” he said, rather eloquently. 

   “Pansy wouldn’t let me.  She knew it would cause trouble.”

   Harry looked at Draco, his turn to wear the confusion.  “The jacket?  The…leather jacket.  That one?”  He turned and indicated the magazine again, where his picture self was sporting the coat in most of the shots.

   Draco smiled lazily back at him.  “Can’t you see it?” he asked through the steam from his mug.  “Trouble.”

   Harry frowned at him, then looked back.

   And looked at _Draco_ this time.

   Draco’s eyes lingering on Harry as the makeup artist swept her brush over his cheekbones.  Draco biting his lip as he flitted through the clothes ensemble.  Draco stroking his brush through Harry’s wet hair, his face all consumed with something strong, something tense.

   Harry blinked and shook his head.  “I don’t get it?” he said, too scared to voice his suspicions.

   Draco though plonked his mug down again and sat up, so he and Harry were knee to knee.  “I know Turpin has me on call as your only stylist, that you won’t work with anyone else.”

   “Because you’re the only one to treat me like a real person,” Harry replied immediately.  “The only one not to take my crap.”

   “Right,” said Draco.  “Yeah, no, that’s true.  But I think it’s something else too.”

   Without warning he reached his hand up and slid it through Harry’s hair, thick still with sleep.  It was like Harry had no control, his eyes closed and he leaned in to the touch, his lips parting as he exhaled.  “I don’t think you realise the little noises you make when my fingers are on you.”

   Harry’s brain stuttered, and he forced his eyes open fearfully as Draco retracted.  “You relax me, that’s…that’s your job?”

   Draco had something feral in his look though, and he moved closer, forcing Harry to move back into the sofa arm.  “I don’t get that from anyone else though?” Draco challenged, and Harry’s heart crashed against his ribcage in panic.  “Just you, these little murmurs and sighs when my hands are in your hair.”

   It wasn’t fair, was Draco just doing this to torment him?  He literally didn’t know what to do as he stared into those silvery grey eyes that were apparently trying to devour him.  _Did he still think this was funny?_ a small, pitiful part of him wondered. 

   “Close your eyes,” Draco whispered.  The bright morning sunshine spilling though the windows seemed to undermine the seriousness of the situation, and Harry just shook his head, thinking how he could get his wand in time.  What did Draco intend to do to him?

   “No,” he rasped.

   Draco, unnervingly, pressed even closer.  “Close your eye Potter.  You make the best noises when your eyes are closed.”

   Harry was a trained Auror, he knew how to assess the situation and take care of himself in almost any given situation.  And yet, he found his eyelids dropping down, despite his trembling hands gripping the edges of the sofa. 

   “I always wondered,” Draco said softly, and Harry gasped as he felt fingertips gracing over his knees, up onto his thighs.  “What _other_ sounds you might make.  If I was allowed to touch _other_  parts of your body?”

   Harry wanted to open his eyes, wanted to ask what the _hell_ was going on, but Draco had told him to shut them.  So he kept them shut. 

   “That was a good one,” Draco said, running his hands higher, his cool fingers skimming across the gap between Harry’s jeans and the jumper he’d hastily thrown on when he’d got out of bed earlier.  “How about this one?”

   His inched up against Harry’s stomach, and Harry twitched, a kind of squeak escaping his lips as Draco caressed up and down his sides.  “Ah yes,” he purred, “I like that one.”

   And finally, _finally,_ it hit Harry what was happening.

   Draco was seducing him.

   He let out a guttural moan he wasn’t even ashamed of, and slid a little further down the couch, draping his arm over his eyes to make sure he didn’t open them.  “Yes,” he barely breathed.  

   He felt Draco move over him, slipping his right hand further up his jumper, and his left along his collarbones over the wool.  “Fuck, Harry,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over his face.  “Don’t stop.”

   Obediently, Harry kept his eyes shut as suddenly the jumper was hauled over his head, and he moaned closed mouthed, a guttural sound he felt all the way down his spine.  “Oh fucking hell, yes,” Draco uttered, and Harry heard the jumper drop to the wooden floor.  Two hands skirted up the side of his ribs, and he couldn’t help but give a reactionary giggle which he clamped down on as soon as he realised, horrified.  Draco did it again, purposely, and Harry jerked involuntarily.  “Oh he’s _ticklish,”_ Draco moaned in a tone that shot straight to Harry’s groin. 

   Draco took to Harry’s sides again, this time with light, fluttery brushes of his fingers that had him making a squeaking noise and trying to squirm further into the sofa cushions. 

   “Oh no you don’t, shh-shh-shh- _shhhh,”_ Draco purred, falling more onto Harry and pinning both his hands above his head, his lags wrapped around Harry’s hips.  Harry whimpered, loudly, but his smirk probably gave him away.  He was in some sort of heaven.

   “Hold still,” Draco instructed as he let Harry’s hands go, but Harry kept them above his head like he’d been told.  “Good boy,” he rumbled, and Harry shivered, letting out a gasp of air that by now he understood was appreciated.  “Good boy.”

   The kiss started at the dip in his hip, where his jeans ended.  Draco’s mouth licked and sucked, dragging his lips across Harry’s flesh, moving from oblique to bellybutton along his left hand ribs, until finally-

   “Oh, fuck _oh!”_ Harry cried, his body convulsing against his will as Draco locked his hot lips and tongue around his nipple, and started to _play._  

   Harry had been too scared to ever try and go this far with anyone before, because they’d either been a girl, or they’d been a drunken Muggle fumble.  His brain was on overload as Draco continued to suck and lick, and his hand, his hand-

   Harry couldn’t help it, his own hands jerk down and grabbed the back of Draco’s neck and his shoulder blade respectively as Draco’s hand found it way between his legs, massaging with such tender care as he always showed Harry’s hair. 

   _There was other hair down there too,_ Harry’s traitorous brain informed him, and his whinnied like a fucking pony.

   Draco laughed and let his nipple go, fluttering kisses up his chest and along his neck.  “Oh Potter,” he growled.  “Don’t stop making those little noises, please, _please.”_

   Harry moaned and whimpered, he gasped and stuttered as Draco’s mouth worked along his jaw and eventually – _oh!_

   Harry kissed Draco like a drowning man.  He simpered and mewled like a little kitten, desperate as he was to give everything he could to this man he though he been so out of his reach.

   But then Draco pulled back, his body flush against Harry’s as he stroked his hair and took in his face.  Harry, though, probably looked like a scrunched up potato as he finally snapped open his eyes.  “What’s wrong?” he exhaled.

   Draco’s smile broadened, and he carded his fingered through Harry’s hair.  “Nothing,” he whispered.  “Absolutely nothing, everything’s perfect.” 

   “Then why have you stopped?” Harry asked, aware of how pathetic he sounded.

   Draco though smiled kindly, and gave him a brief but tender kiss.  “Because I’ve been imagining those sounds for the past couple of years, and now they’re happening, right underneath me.”

   Harry stared up in wonder, glad Draco was so close, otherwise without his glasses he’d never be able to make out the subtle shifts of worry underneath all that bravado.  “The last-” he murmured, not able to believe his ears.  “I-you?”

   “Yes,” said Draco, looking directly into Harry’s eyes with those pools of silver, but for the first time ever Harry could seen vulnerability in them.

   “Me too,” he said before he could change his mind.  “Me – I – I want this.  So badly.  I was upset because those photos showed the truth, not because they lied.”

   Draco’s beautiful silver eyes pooled with tears, and he beamed down at Harry, tangled and wrapped up under him.  “That’s what made me happy,” he said, stoking the hair he’d berated for the past few years.  “They finally showed the truth.  I want the truth now Harry, I want everything.”

   His ensuing kiss showed just how much he meant it. 

  

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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